A Love Song for Ricki Wilde (76)

She couldn’t die. So much was unfinished! Ezra needed his person. Ms. Della needed her granddaughter. Tuesday needed her best friend. Wilde Things needed its creative force. And her family… well, that was another story. She was comic relief to them, at best. But deep down, she’d always hoped to receive their acceptance. Maybe, with a bit more time, she’d get it.

All these emotions and desires crashed inside of her and then coalesced into one single-minded purpose.

“Ezra, what if we could find a way to break the curse? You’d be mortal, and I’d be saved from death in ten days. We’d be free from this madness.”

Ricki showed Ezra her phone. “I’ve done some research on how to reverse hexes, and this diagnostic quiz came up. Before we do anything, we have to be sure it’s a curse.”

She’d pulled up a screenshot of a quiz she’d found on ReverseTheCurse.com.


? Is there someone in your life that you have angered or offended in some way?

? Is that person someone who has the magical knowledge to place a harmful spell on you?

? Is a hex or curse the only possible explanation for what is happening to you?



Ezra glanced from the screen to Ricki. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

“I thought so—just wanted to do this right. Here’s the good news. I’ve made three appointments with spiritual specialists,” she announced with pride. “One of them has to work.”

“Spiritual specialists?” Ezra looked skeptical. “Felice used dark voodoo. It’s powerful magic, not ‘bad vibes’ or ‘negative energy.’”

“I knew you’d say that. Which is why I’ve found authentic spell-reversal experts!”

“I appreciate your effort. I do. But every so-called medium or psychic I’ve ever met is a hack. If all it took was the Psychic Friends Network, I could’ve wrapped this up ages ago.”

Ricki bit her lip. “Did you… actually call the Psychic Friends Network?”

“Those Dionne Warwick infomercials were very persuasive.” He sighed. “I don’t know, the ’90s were bleak.”

“First of all, I would never waste our time with fakes. I’ve thoroughly vetted and researched these specialists. Secondly, have you heard of Yelp?”

“Of course I’ve heard of Yelp.” He paused. “No, I haven’t heard of Yelp.”

“Well, let’s just say these women have very satisfied customers. Trust me.” And then she leaned forward onto the table, dead serious in her desperation. “Ezra, listen to me. You have to go along with this, because we don’t have any other options. It’s my life on the line. Get it?”

Ezra’s eyes widened at her intensity. “Got it.”

“Good.” She sat back in her chair. “Also, after extensive research on PaybacksAWitch.com, I learned that when an immortality curse is broken, the immortal returns to the same age they were pre-hex. We’d be the same age. At the same time. You could start over. With me.”

Her brave earnestness hit something soft in Ezra, and he reached across the table and held her hand.

Ricki had forgotten what happened when they touched. Shimmering warmth rippled through her in waves. Her palm tingled long after he dropped his hand.





Their first stop was Madame Sessy, a bright-eyed, round, middle-aged woman with a shock of auburn hair ornamented with a rhinestone-studded headband. Her office was nestled above a Chinese massage parlor on West 24th Street. It was the kind of place Ezra had seen a million times. Gaudy sign in the window, flashing PSYCHIC in aggressive neon green.

This was a long shot, but deep down, a vague ribbon of hope ran through him. He’d never shared his story with anyone, and he’d walked alone in it for too long. But now, knowing that Ricki was walking with him, it lessened the despair. In fact, after confiding in her about everything—the church fire, Sonny—he felt more alive than he had in decades.

Most likely, this psychic would be a waste of time. But what if she wasn’t?

They sat down on plastic folding chairs across from Madame Sessy, who was perched on a wicker throne, 1983 bridal shower edition. And then, with animated hopefulness, Ricki explained their situation. Madame Sessy nodded while setting an actual crystal ball on the aluminum coffee table between her and her guests.

“This is an underworld issue.” Ziss iss an undahverld eeeshew. “According to astrology, the underworld is in the Fourth House, which is the house of the ancestors. It’s a dark labyrinth populated by old gods, old wounds, and restless souls. Mr. Ezra, the curse cast you down into the underworld, a purgatory of sorts, where you’re barred from the human experience.” And then she shouted, “WITH NO WAY OUT!”

Surprised, Ricki and Ezra reflexively jumped in their creaky seats.

“What you need,” Madame Sessy continued, “is a psychopomp.”

“And circumstance?” joked Ricki.

Ezra snickered, and the psychic glared at them both.

“A psychopomp is a guide to escort Mr. Ezra out of the underworld. Mr. Ezra, I’m happy to be your symbolic psychopomp, leading you by torchlight back to mortality. It’s a painless ritual involving special candles, essential oils, and a large aluminum gong.”

“Appreciate you,” he said with his usual cordiality. “May I ask what it’ll cost?”